


The Summer of 1992

by SuspiciouslyIntelligentUndeadBumblebee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Cas likes baking, Dean is a lot younger than Cas, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sexual Harassment, Temporarily Unrequited Love, two different years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 21:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14121084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuspiciouslyIntelligentUndeadBumblebee/pseuds/SuspiciouslyIntelligentUndeadBumblebee
Summary: The last summer before Castiel leaves for college, a new family, the Winchesters, move next door to the Novaks. Cas's love for baking pies sparks a friendship with 13-year-old Dean Winchester.





	The Summer of 1992

**Author's Note:**

> My first work. Very angsty, very cheesy, I wrote this at a boring Superbowl Party that my mom forced me to go to and I was "feeling the creative flow," or whatever. Warning in advance: I'm pretty fucking awful at writing kisses.  
> Really short and fast-paced. Probably really shitty. Sorry guys.

The Summer of 1992

The gardenias had only just begun to bloom when the Winchesters moved next door. I barely remember that day—my mind was full of memories from high school and worries about college. Mere days ago had been my last day of primary school, and now I was starting to pack bags to head to Seattle, Washington. I do remember they came without a moving van and seemed to have very few belongings with them. A fresh start.

My family took a quick liking to theirs, and though I never spoke to them for the first month of summer, I learned what I could through my parents, siblings, and observation through my bedroom window. Their father, Bobby, was an older man who enjoyed hunting. Though he liked to act tough, I could tell how much he loved his sons. I could never really figure out what he did for a living. Their mother, Ellen, was very similar in personality to Bobby, but I could tell they didn’t really love each other. Ellen had already had a daughter when she married Bobby, who passed away when she was just five years old. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how a parent can live through that.

As for the boys themselves: I pitied them. A terrible fire consumed their house and took the lives of their parents years ago, leaving six-month-old Sam and five-year-old Dean orphans. For two years they went from house to house, never quite fitting in. Until one day, Ellen decided that grief would not kill her, and it was time to move on. She and Bobby fostered Sam and Dean for barely a month before they realized it was true love. I never knew why, after six happy years in Lawrence, Kansas, they decided to come all the way to Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

The first time I spoke to any of them was nearly a month later, at the neighborhood Fourth of July barbecue. Every year, each family brought a specific item. Not to brag, but I had become quite well known for my pie. I always loved baking pies, the time and dedication it took to pull it off. That year I had decided on cherry rhubarb, my personal favorite, for my last summer in Sioux Falls. I arrived early to watch as people came in. It was always fascinating, to see each person’s little unique way of greeting, their quirks during conversation, and—of course—what they brought. I have found the food someone brings can show a lot about their personality. I was lingering by the dessert table when the Winchesters arrived. Bobby and Sam appeared excited, rushing through the gate practically dragging a massive venison behind them. Meanwhile, Dean and Ellen lagged behind, obviously apprehensive with intruding on a classic community gathering so soon after moving there. But you should have seen the look on Dean’s face when he saw my pie. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way his beautiful green eyes widened, the way the sun brought out streaks of honey-gold as he rushed towards me. He grabbed a plate, a fork, and a slice, and devoured it in a shocking amount of time. Three pieces (or about five minutes) later, he finally noticed me. Gesturing enthusiastically at the remaining pie, he asked. “Dude, have you  _tried_  this?!”

I shuffled my feet uncomfortably. I have never really liked talking about myself, especially to people I hardly knew. “I, ah, made it.”

Dean’s shocked expression almost made me laugh. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Dean Winchester.”

“I know. I’m Castiel Novak. I live next door to you.”

“Oh, you’re one of the Novaks. You guys have a huge family. I’ve talked to your dad—Chuck, right? And your sister Anna. And Gabe. Gabe’s funny.”

I disagreed. Gabriel was an obnoxious nuisance. But I wasn’t about to say that in front of a family friend. “Well, I’m glad you like the pie.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot upward. “You’re kidding, right? I  _loved_  the pie. Let me know if you ever feel like making any more, because I will gladly eat it all.”

I laughed. With a final goodbye, Dean left to join his family. I don’t really remember much from the rest of that day.

 

Six days later was my eighteenth birthday—and, naturally, my father decided to invite the entire town. As if my socially awkward self would want to interact with over a hundred people more than once a week. Luckily, only about two hundred people showed up.  _Un_ luckily, almost half of them were my former classmates.

The party was well underway when April Kelly showed up. The room quieted as she walked slowly across the room, her curtain of red-blonde hair swaying behind her. I pressed myself against the wall as if it could swallow me up and save me from this encounter.

April finally stopped mere inches from me. I began to sweat as she stroked my cheek gently. When I looked into her eyes, all I could see was a venomous snake, able and eager to strike.

“It’s been a long time, Castiel.” My name rolled off her tongue like water off a duck’s back. I had heard it so many times before, but this time it made me shiver.

“April. Leave me alone.” I could barely breathe the words out. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on us. Where was my dad? Where was Anna? Where were my siblings when I needed them?

She smiled like a tiger right before it bites off the head of a mouse. “Oh Castiel, you don’t mean that. Remember how much fun we had, the last time we—”

 _Thunk, thunk._  All the heads in the room swiveled in unison to the door. Finally, Gabriel stepped from the crowd— _dammit, Gabriel, why didn’t you help me?_ —and opened the door. In stepped Sam, Ellen, Bobby, and finally, Dean. I breathed out a sigh of relief and slid around April.

“Dean, Dean!” I didn’t care that everyone was looking at me with confusion. It was better than them looking at me while I was pinned to the wall, trapped. “I baked a pie yesterday. Blueberry. Just for you.” I grabbed his hand and dragged him into the kitchen—not that he was complaining much.

After watching him down five generous portions (it never ceases to amaze me how much that kid could  _eat_ ), I finally spoke. “Thanks for saving me back there.”

Dean wiped the dark stains from his mouth. “Yeah, what was that all about? You looked super uncomfortable.”

“That would be April. We have… history. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Whoever she was, she was a  _babe_.”

I frowned. “Aren’t you like, twelve?”

He slammed his napkin on the table. “I’m thirteen, okay! Only one year younger than Anna.”

I noticed a little blush when he said her name, and smiled. “You don’t happen to like her, do you?”

The red on his cheeks deepened. “Well, of course I like her. She’s my friend.”

I couldn’t help grinning. “You know what I mean.”

The shade of his face could now rival the color of my pie. “N-no! Of course not!”

I laughed so loudly that Anna poked her head in, a look of concern on her face. “Are you… okay, Castiel?” I guess I never really laughed like that much when I was younger.

“Yeah, I’m fine. In fact, I think I’ll go. Why don’t you stay, and talk to Dean?” I winked over my shoulder at him. “Bye, Dean.”

His scowl broke to give me a little smile. “Bye, Cas.”

My expression didn’t change as I left the room, but inside, I was shocked. I had never been given a nickname before.

 

Dean would stop by so often for pie that it became a weekly activity. Friday became pie day, and though Sammy or Balthazar would sometimes slip in for a slice, it was usually just Dean and I. We would split the entire thing—or, more accurately, Dean would eat six pieces and I would eat two—and then talk about life, and school, and everything in between. My siblings seemed confused about my profound bond with a child so much younger than me (except Gabriel, who teased me relentlessly as always), but I didn’t care. I lived for those Fridays.

And then, as the days grew steadily shorter and July came to a close, everything changed. I was reading a fantastic historical fiction novel about the Vietnam War when Balthazar slipped into my room and perched on the foot of my bed.

“Did you hear about what Dean did?” he whispered. His voice was soft and pitying.

I snapped the book shut. “What happened?!”  _What did he do? Is he hurt? Oh, god, Dean…_

“Some fifteen-year-olds found a carving in a tree, down in the woods. A big heart. With words.” Balthazar couldn’t meet my eyes. “Winchester+Novak.”

I could hardly breathe. “Anna?”

Balthazar nodded. “It makes sense. They talk all the time, hang out together. And Anna has had a crush on him since he moved here. But this—well, let’s just say she isn’t taking it well. She’s never been one for popularity or publicity. She won’t come out of her room—won’t even talk to Gabe.”

I shook my head. “Poor Anna. And poor Dean. He’ll have a hard time adjusting to a new school with this circling around.”

Balthazar nodded sadly. “Not to mention, you guys won’t have your weekly pie sessions anymore.” I must have looked confused, because he added, “Dean isn’t likely to show his face in the Novak house after this. I would have thought that would be obvious. Sorry, Castiel.” After a beat of silence, he stood and left the room, closing the door gently after him.

For the rest of that day, I couldn’t focus on my reading. I just gazed out the window at the Winchester house absentmindedly. I can’t even remember what I was feeling at that moment, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to.

I didn’t even bother to make a pie that Thursday. And though I sat in bed all day Friday, I didn’t sleep a wink. I just listened for a knock on the door.

It never came.

 

On August 17th, 1992, I finished packing my bags for college and said one final goodbye to my family. Not that going off to college was anything new: in fact, being the second-youngest of many siblings, I was hardly anything special. But I certainly felt special enveloped in hugs. Anna even cried a little; being the youngest, she was on her own with our father once everyone else left after the summer ended. Then, once everyone (even Zach and Raphael, who always despised me) had said goodbye, I started making my way to the only bus stop in town.

I had been sitting on the bench for only a minute when a frantic, breathless “Cas!” came from behind me. I turned to see Dean sprinting up the street, leather jacket flapping behind him. I couldn’t help grinning like an idiot; I had been hoping to see him, to say goodbye, but I thought he wouldn’t want to see me.

But when Dean finally caught up, he surprised me. “I can’t let you leave without telling you the truth.” My heart sped up. What could he possibly have lied about? Dean’s face turned scarlet as he took a deep breath in, and slowly let it out. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “It wasn’t Anna I wrote about. In the tree.

“It was you.”

I didn’t gasp, or look away. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t even shocked. It was as if some part of me had always known. Some part was expecting it. But that didn’t change the conflicting emotions within me. I mean, he was  _thirteen_. I was  _eighteen_. It just… didn’t make sense. Even if he was the closest friend I ever had, even if I longed for our weekly meetings, even if I desperately missed him when he didn’t come over anymore, I didn’t think I loved him. It could never be that way between us.  _He’s just a boy, with conflicting emotions. It’s just a crush. He’ll get over it in a month, and then he’ll be on to someone new…_

It took me a few minutes to catch my breath, and even then, I didn’t know what to say. “Dean, I—”

Luckily, the rumble of the approaching bus just down the street saved me from speaking. Dean grabbed my hand, and his impossibly beautiful eyes, full of tears, finally met mine. “Just, before you go, may I… may I kiss you?” His eyes were full of hope. I didn’t want to break his heart.

But I didn’t have a choice.

I shifted my hands to his shoulders, bent down, and gently kissed his forehead. I quickly straightened and grabbed my bags, turned around, and boarded the bus. I didn’t have the courage to look behind me.

I never expected to see him again.

 

The Winter of 2001

During college, I thought about Dean more then I like to admit. Usually, it was just snippets of a conversation, or a bit of color, or a wafting smell that would remind me of home and of him. I tried my best to push those thoughts to the back of my head. But it was hard. I was not the most social child, and therefore, not the most social adult, meaning I was left alone with my thoughts for hours. But as the months passed, as fall became spring and then fall again, it became easier. Still, I avoided going back to Sioux Falls during the summer break, and traveled the country instead, stopping to see my siblings at their houses whenever I could.

Even though I was majoring in religion history, hoping for a teaching degree, I took art as an elective. I quickly developed what my teacher called my “unique style:” black and white portraits of people, all different people of all shapes and sizes, all with the same hazel-green eyes shot through with honey and gold.

I could never get the color perfect. I could never capture memory in paint, chalk, or pencil.

And then, graduation. After six years, I finally got my teaching degree and was released into the world. My whole family showed up for graduation—even Anna, who was now training to become a Navy SEAL. I decided to move in with Balthazar to try my luck getting a teaching job in Redding, California. As luck would have it, I almost immediately found a job at Liberty Christian Schools. I was interviewed, accepted, and began teaching.

The next two years flew by in a blur. Between adjusting to a stable job, buying my first apartment, and keeping myself healthy with my decent salary, I hardly thought about Dean—in fact, I hardly thought about anyone from my childhood at all. My family started meeting at Gabriel’s mansion in Broward County, Florida, as our father’s home was getting a little crowded now that we were all grown. So, for two years, the only time I thought of Dean was when I lay in bed late at night, unable to sleep, and a freckled face with hazel eyes swam beneath my eyelids.

 

Today was a relatively normal Monday off: sleep in, go out for brunch, go for a walk in the park, come home, watch television, grade papers, make myself a little dinner, and read for an hour or two. The sunset brings a light drizzle—typical of February in Redding—which is a nice background noise to my relaxing evening. I take a bath and go to bed early.

At around eleven, I awaken to the sound of the doorbell. Disoriented and half-asleep, I shove on a T-shirt and attempt to rub the sleep from my eyes. Who could possibly be bothering me at this hour? My closest friends were my siblings, and none of them would bother visiting me, especially this late…

I flick the hallway lights on as I sprint towards the door. The doorbell is still ringing as I throw open the door and hazel green eyes with streaks of honey-gold meet mine.

My first thought is of how much he has grown—he is taller than me now. My second is of how much nine years can change a person: not a freckle in sight, baby cheeks gone, brown hair bleached a dark blond by sun and chlorine. But all thoughts leave my head when he smirks up at me, crooked and cocky, but hopeful.  

“I think I’m ready for a big-boy kiss now, Mr. Novak.”

I stare in shock. The only sound is the light drum of rain and the beat of my heart. And then, without even thinking, I am reaching up, pulling his head down to mine, and suddenly his lips are on mine and I can no longer breathe.

He stiffens with surprise, as if he had not expected it would be that easy. But his body soon melts into mine, and his arms slip around my waist and onto my back, pulling me tighter. Never wanting to let go. His face is wet from the rain, but his lips are so warm, and so soft, and it’s everything I have ever imagined and  _more_. I shiver as he slides a hand up my back and cups the back of my neck, pulling my face closer as he deepens the kiss. I nip his lip gently, and relish in the little gasp he makes. In between kisses, he manages to spit out, “Do you know how hard it was to find you, you son of a bitch?” As the drizzle starts to fall faster and harder until it is practically a downpour, I grab the front of Dean’s jacket and forcefully pull him inside. Neither of us can think or function properly, which may be why he trips on the welcome mat and falls into me gracelessly. Within seconds, I am pinned on three sides between his limp body, the wall, and the carpeted floors.

After a second’s pause, he begins to shake. I try to lift him up to look at his face. “What’s wrong, Dean? Are you hurt? Are you cold?” Then I realize that he is laughing. After a second, I begin to chuckle too. It is a bit funny, how clumsy he is when he is flustered and distracted…

“Ah, there’s the caring, shy, grown-up Cas I know.” Suddenly, he grabs my face, cupping my chin in his hand. His green irises are hidden behind dilated pupils, his cheeks flushed as he breathes heavily. He isn’t laughing anymore. “Sometimes I forget how much… sometimes I forget you are four years older than me. I mean, I’m twenty-two, still in college, barely old enough to legally drink.” He lets go of me and straightens up, taking a step backward. As he turns away, running his fingers anxiously through his hair, I catch sight of his look of embarrassment and defeat. “And you have a house and a job. Are you sure you want this? You could find a nice girl, get married, have two and a half children… be normal. Be happy.”

I jump to my feet, reach out, and grab his hand. “Don’t you understand? This will make me happy. I’ve never really been happy since… since I left Sioux Falls. Since I left you. For me, happy isn’t normal—happy is being with you.” I don’t know what I would do if I were to lose him now, after all those years apart. I feel a tear slide down my cheek. “Don’t you feel the same way?” I look pleadingly into his eyes, those eyes that I had fantasized about for eight years. For a full minute, we are stuck there, frozen in this moment.

Finally, Dean takes a tentative step closer, then another, until he is so close I can feel his heart beating next to mine. His eyes are full of longing as he leans forward and kisses the tear off my cheek. “Of course,” he murmurs into my skin. He braces one hand against the wall behind me. The other hand is still intertwined with mine as he traces butterfly kisses down my jawline. Finally, our lips meet, and I am lost once again. I feel like a giddy, lovesick child. I have never felt this way about anyone, not even April when I thought I loved her. But that wasn’t love.  _This_  is love. And though I shock even myself by thinking that so soon, I know it is the truth. I can feel it pumping through my veins, and as sure as my name is Castiel Novak, I know Dean Winchester is mine.

**Author's Note:**

> And there it is. Please don't judge me for my soap-opera-worthy-cheesiness, I really do try.  
> Based off a Tumblr post by shutupringa.
> 
> Follow me on Instagram @destiel_proof :)


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